


Wrong Number

by flybynight



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Phone Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybynight/pseuds/flybynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur starts receiving phone calls from a stranger, a man he can't seem to stop talking to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Number

**Author's Note:**

> And the award for lamest title goes to... Me. 
> 
> I wrote this after receiving one too many phone calls for someone else by mistake, but unfortunately the truth is no where near as interesting or steamy as the piece of writing it inspired. Warnings for awkwardness, probably some run-on sentences, and a little smut. 
> 
> I also realize it's Halloween and I should have posted something spookier than this... Welp. Maybe next year? Haha. Hope someone enjoys!

When Arthur's phone rang the first time, he glanced at the unfamiliar number that popped up on the screen and decided to ignore it. He was out on a lunch appointment with a couple of colleagues and a potential customer at the time, and figured if the call was from someone very important, they would be sure to leave a message. They did not, and Arthur forgot all about it.

The second time was a few hours later, when Arthur was rushing to get to the bus stop before he missed the 6:15. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he couldn't afford to stop running and retrieve it, cursing his luck and the fact that he still wasn't making enough to buy a damned  _car_  so he didn't have to put up with such nonsense. Moments later he slipped into an empty bus seat next to some other haggard looking 9-5'er with unwelcome overtime who looked as miserable as he did and checked his phone, only to see it was from the same number as earlier, and once again they'd not left a message. He furrowed his brow and put his phone away again, deciding to concentrate on more pertinent matters like what to have for supper and how soon he could find the nearest soft surface to finally collapse onto.

The third time Arthur was just coming out of the shower, feeling slightly more relaxed and refreshed. He'd had dinner and had even gotten some work done that he hadn't been able to finish earlier, and now he was finally ready to slip into bed, the weight of the day on his shoulders lifting as soon as he saw how inviting his pillows and blankets looked to be. At least, until he heard the persistent buzzing of his cell against the bedside table.

He snatched it up with an irritated look, seeing that it was the same number. He swiped up to answer it, schooling his voice into something no where near the true irritation he felt at being delayed from his hard earned sleep.

"Hello?" he said crisply.

At first there was no response, merely a long pause that seemed to stretch into infinity the longer Arthur waited. God, he just wanted to  _sleep_.

"Who is this?" he asked, a tad more firm and impatient.

 _"Woah, sorry, I just-- Who is_ this _?"_

It was a man's voice. He sounded surprised, confused, and thoroughly American. Arthur had thought himself used to the accent since moving to the United States almost a year ago, but this was an odd twang a bit different from anything he'd heard as of yet. Slightly Southern perhaps? The sort of thing you didn't hear in NYC all too often.

"I believe I asked you first," Arthur murmured, narrowing his eyes despite the fact that the other person would be unable to see it. "You've called this number at least 3 times today, and I'm starting to think you have the wrong person."

_"What?"_

Not even five minutes into this call and Arthur could tell the man on the other line had to be a complete imbecile.

"You have the wrong number. Goodbye."

He started to pull the phone away to mash his thumb against the 'end call' button, but he heard a frantic "No wait!" and he stopped. Frowning growing deeper, he put the phone up against his ear again, almost cautious.

 _"Don't hang up!"_  the voice continued, and there was the sound of rustling in the background, and then it sounded as though he were closer to the receiver.  _"Who are you?"_

With a long suffering sigh, Arthur sat down upon his bed. "Is this a sales call of some sort?"

_"No! Just tell me your name, dude."_

Arthur wrinkled his nose. 'Dude' was not used by anyone he knew, personally or professionally. "Arthur Kirkland. You've got the wrong number."

 _"I'm Alfred Jones,"_  the man replied with a little laugh. " _And I think you're right, I definitely have the wrong number."_

"Considering you've called me at least three times today, I would think you would have figured this out based on the voice mail recording..." Arthur grumbled, looking mournfully at his pillows. The promise of a restful sleep was so close and yet so far away.

 _"Oh, I always hung up before that, I hate leaving messages_!"

Well, that certainly explained the lack of them.

"Well that's just dandy, but if you'll excuse me, I'm going to hang up now."

_"No wait, please-- don't hang up. I, uh, I'm sorry for blowing up your phone today, but like, I was trying to reach my brother and he usually picks up after like one ring but he just got a new phone and I think he must have screwed up the numbers-- unless he's just being a dick and gave me the wrong number on purpose."_

Arthur pulled back to stare at his phone incredulously, wondering how and why this man had deemed it appropriate to give his life story to a stranger over the phone at 10PM on a Tuesday night. Even worse was that Arthur wanted to hang up, but instead he sat there like an even bigger fool just listening to him ramble about dickish siblings and unreliable cellphones. Alfred, as he had identified himself, was just about to move on to the merits of pre-paid versus contract when Arthur finally remembered he was completely knackered and did not give two shits about any of it.

"Pardon me, but is there a point to all of this? I believe we established,  _you have the wrong number._  I apologize that this brother of yours gave you the wrong one, but I am not him. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to end this call and move on with my life, thank you."

He was answered with a long, low laugh that made him twitch-- partly because he despised being laughed at, and partly because it didn't sound as unnerving as it should have. It was rather pleasant, considering. It still did little to ease the darkening scowl on his face as he waited for an explanation.

 _"Man, you sound_ hot _."_

"Excuse me?" Arthur responded, mid-splutter.

_"You do! I really dig your accent. British right? Or Australian?"_

"I'm English,"  _you twat_ , Arthur added in his head, "but what does that have to do with anything?"

_"I dunno, I just thought you sounded interesting."_

Which was unfortunate, because Arthur couldn't say the feeling was mutual, especially at that moment.

"Lovely. Well, good night."

This time, Alfred did not protest. _"Okay, good night! Sleep well!"_

Arthur rolled his eyes and hung up. As he slipped under the covers, he gave his cellphone one last glance from its spot beside his table lamp and alarm clock, deciding to chalk the whole thing up to a strange and awkward circumstance that hopefully would never be repeated.

It was not the right thing to do, apparently, as two days later he received a call from the same number.

"Hello?" Arthur answered, in the middle of battling lunch hour traffic to and from the elevators. He didn't receive an answer right away again, and he sighed. "Alfred, wasn't it?"

_"You remembered my name! Sweet."_

"Can I help you?" Arthur bit out, scowling at the dirty look a passing gentleman gave him for speaking on his cellphone in the elevator. Honestly he couldn't blame him, he would give someone else the same for doing something so rude, but he couldn't be bothered just then, as he had to hurry to the bodega before they ran out of sandwiches again and somehow make it back in time to eat before his next meeting.

_"You're on lunch, right?"_

"It's 12:30, most people in the working world are, now why are you calling me again?"

He heard noises from the other line, as though there were people talking in the background. Perhaps Alfred was also at work, which still begged the question as to why he was bothering Arthur, but regardless.

_"Cool! And I was just calling to say hello, where do you work?"_

The bodega was packed. Arthur could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on as he held his phone to his ear and pushed his way past the other hungry and impatient patrons. "Oh for god's sake-- I don't believe that's any of your business, and why do you still have my number?"

Alfred laughed, this one brighter than the one a few nights ago. Arthur momentarily hesitated before reaching out to grab what was left of the sandwiches on display. Tuna salad-- the one thing this bodega didn't do very well, which was usually why it was the only thing left. Just  _fantastic._  He jostled his way back towards the register before Alfred finally responded.

_"I told you, you sounded interesting. And hot. Mostly interesting? That doesn't sound as creepy, right?"_

"If you have to ask, then you're probably pushing it," Arthur spat. He gave an apologetic look to the cashier, who simply pointed at the total on the screen and waited somewhat impatiently for him to fish his money out of his wallet. He quickly pressed a few bills and coins on the counter, checking to make sure he'd put down the right amount of change, before hurrying back out the door and into the throngs of people.

_"Yeah, you're probably right. Sorry, I don't mean to be a creep, I'm honestly curious. I really am sorry for bothering you."_

Arthur wanted to scoff and roll his eyes, but it was surprising how contrite the other sounded. The thing about phones was, sometimes it was hard to tell, particularly if you did not know the person well, how genuine they were on the other line. But this Alfred fellow, whoever he was, seemed to have a voice that betrayed his emotions quite well, enough that Arthur continued to listen despite the fact that he was running out of time and patience.

"No it's-- It's fine. I just don't quite understand what you're trying to accomplish here," Arthur answered honestly, and deep down he probably knew he could answer his own question. The statements about his hypothetical 'hotness' were fairly clear as a bell, but he wasn't the type to get his hopes up about much of anything, especially about some strange man he'd never met.

_"You know, I'm not sure either. Beyond making a new friend, I guess._

Arthur snorted softly, though it was not exactly meant to be insulting. "Are you that lonely?"

_"No, but that doesn't mean I don't like meeting new people. Especially attractive people."_

"You keep saying that. You're so certain of this, and the idea that I would even be interested in hearing that from another man. For all you know, I could be a raging homophobic."

_"Hey now-- everybody likes a little ego stroke, gay or not!"_

For some reason, Arthur imagined this person to be waggling his eyebrows while saying so. Naturally he didn't know what Alfred looked like, but from his voice, he sounded young (and maybe even 'attractive', but Arthur wasn't just going to  _assume_  things like some people), probably cheerful and full of himself and damnably stupid in the way that some people found charming. Certainly not Arthur. Certainly.

He finally reached his desk again, sighing when he caught a glimpse of the clock as he unwrapped his smelly, soggy sandwich.

"Well, I really should be going now--"

_"Can I call you later?"_

"You are persistent, aren't you," Arthur raised an eyebrow, taking a small nibble of his food.

 _"Oh come on, Arthur,"_ the drawl of his name had Arthur unconsciously squirming a little for some reason.  _"Just to chat? I mean, if you really don't want to hear from me again, I understand and all, I'll hang up right now. But if you're cool with it..."_

Arthur wasn't sure what he was 'cool' with at that point. Alfred was a bit obnoxious... but he wasn't rude and seemed friendly enough. A voice in his head told him that this was how people were tracked down by whack jobs and serial killers or what have you, that it wasn't wise to trust people you didn't know, there were certainly enough examples in reality to point to for why one didn't engage strange people who continued to contact you for no real reason.

But then again, life was full of the sort of risks that involved placing ones self in situations that seemed uncomfortable at first. Arthur wasn't a risk taker by nature (though most of his friends in college had been, strangely enough, and perhaps that said more about  _him_  than the aforementioned friends), he was always quite comfortable in his designated little space apart from others and apart from anything that threatened that. And in situations where he had no choice, he was stubborn and steadfast in maintaining a sort of detachment that kept him safe and free of any awkwardness.

It was why, upon moving to America, he'd not made too many friends outside of work. He wasn't dating anyone either (and far be it for him to mention to this Alfred character that he wasn't adverse to compliments from either men or women, seeing as he'd dated both before).

Perhaps it was time to change that? Perhaps he needed to invite a little more adventure in his life?

He spent much too long contemplating the fact that he forgot to answer Alfred as well as notice that he had about ten minutes to finish eating before he had to talk to a valued customer about their falling profits. He quickly opened his drawer-- peppermint gum, one piece left, thank god. He bit his lip and drummed his fingers against his desk for a moment before cursing it all to hell. What could it hurt, right?

"Fine."

_"Awesome! Hey, I gotta run, boss is coming through-- talk to you later then?"_

"Yes, yes," Arthur muttered, and he felt a little relieved that this Alfred person sounded like he indeed had a job and was not some idle youngster who got his kicks from pestering people-- in an office, like him? Or somewhere interesting? Somewhere boring?--and quickly hung up to finish his terrible sandwich and get moving.

Alfred called that night, around 10 again. Arthur got ready for bed like he usually did, and sounded as unimpressed as possible when answering. It didn't seem to bother the other man at all, who sounded just as cheerful and pleased to hear from him as he had the last two times, and Arthur really had to wonder what was so appealing about just his voice, since he certainly hadn't given Alfred any other reason to be so infatuated.

 _"So how was your day?"_ Alfred asked almost immediately. Arthur thought about it, considering his own answer as well as Alfred's motives. Did the other man really care about something like that?

"If you must know, it was awful."

 _"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that."_ And once more, Arthur was astounded at how genuinely sorry he did sound. It didn't make any sense.  _"What happened?"_

"Well, I keep getting these phone calls from this rather forward stranger..."

Alfred laughed. Arthur was starting to feel more at ease with the sound of it.  _"Ouch. I hope I'm not really the reason you had a bad day..."_

"No, you're not," he said truthfully, pulling his knees up to his chest beneath the blankets. "Just the basic, day to day grind at my ultimately thankless job."

_"Ahh, yeah, I get you. Fellow desk jockey, I take it?"_

Arthur felt his lips quirk upwards a bit. "Indeed. Corporate finance."

_"Computer software company. Wow, we already have something in common!"_

"Yes, we're both terribly boring and average."

_"Hey, speak for yourself! I'm the coolest sum'bitch you'll ever meet!"_

Well, Arthur did have to laugh at that. He just sounded so utterly sure of himself that he couldn't help it. After a moment, Alfred laughed too.

_"In all seriousness, you don't sound all that boring and average either."_

"You say you're serious, but you've yet to give me reason to believe you're not just putting me on."

_"Well, for one thing, you gave me a chance to speak with you again. You have a super cool accent, you have a good sense of humor, and-- are you a raging homophobe or not?"_

Arthur blinked, suddenly recalling their conversation earlier. "What? No."

_"And there ya go, you sound pretty great to me."_

He wasn't sure what to say to that. His face felt suspiciously warm, so he decided not to think on it for too long.

The conversation continued on briefly, mostly idle banter. Alfred had the sort of sense of humor that was rather silly, but Arthur found himself responding and getting laughs out of the other that he felt strangely pleased about earning. He had no reason to feel that way, no more than Alfred had for any of his apparent feelings, but after a while, he stopped caring about that. After a while, it started to feel good to simply talk about nothing with a disembodied voice. Certainly he knew there was a real person on the other line, but right now, the lack of contact otherwise was almost a blessing.

They talked for another half hour before Arthur had to apologize and hang up, as he needed his sleep. Alfred's voice was warm as he bid him good night, and once more wished him well.

"You too, Alfred," Arthur said with a soft smile, and he meant it.

\--

Three entire months went by. Alfred didn't call everyday, but rather every few days, and sometimes twice in one. There were times when Arthur wouldn't be able to talk, and so he'd advised the other to simply text him if he felt the desire to do so. That had opened the proverbial floodgates for contact from the other, and it was not rare for Arthur to keep his phone out on his desk, working dutifully but unable to keep his eyes from straying whenever his phone flashed a notification for a message.

He had to admit to himself that he'd made a new friend. And he liked it. He liked having someone to answer, a reason to pick up his phone that wasn't work related. Alfred would send him pictures of his desk layout, of something interesting he passed on the street (it seemed he also commuted to work-- something else for them to commiserate about), about whatever ridiculously large meal he was having for lunch that day. Arthur didn't send pictures, he felt awful that he didn't think himself half as interesting. But he answered all of Alfred's texts, and stopped feeling strange about doing so.

The nights that Alfred called after they'd both finished for the day, they talked of almost everything. Arthur learned more about Alfred than he probably knew about even some of his closest acquaintances at work. Things like how the other man was originally from Georgia but had moved to NYC to attend school, that he liked his coffee black but had a dangerous relationship with sweets otherwise, that he enjoyed jazz and big band music as much as he did classic rock. He didn't stop asking Arthur about himself and his hobbies, and Arthur had trouble keeping too much a secret when Alfred was so open, often giving him more information than perhaps necessary.

It should have been weird. It  _was_ weird. They lived in the same city, not even more than 20 or 30 minutes apart from each other, but of course had never met-- the city was, obviously, quite  _large_ , so of course they hadn't. And neither had they managed to tackle that obstacle just yet. Instead, they jabbered on like old friends, flinging insults and encouragements (the former was more on Arthur's part), sometimes in the same breath. Alfred was sympathetic, sometimes a bit too cocky, other times so flirty that Arthur had to wonder if he should have felt more awkward about it, but he didn't. It was flustering but it was also exciting, a secret he kept to himself, indulged in during those hours where it was just him and that voice on the other end that gave him something more to look forward to. Alfred liked him, and that was enough.

Things changed when one night, Alfred didn't call at his usual time. Five minutes late, that was fine. Arthur pulled out a book and started reading. After 15, he started to wonder, picking up his phone idly, checking to make sure it was charged and that the ringer was actually on. There was no way he could miss anything. A whole forty-minutes went by with no call or text, and Arthur didn't want to admit that it was disconcerting, so he didn't try and call or text him himself. Instead, he buried himself under his covers and stared at his phone, willing it to ring, willing himself to calm down and the small ache and twinge in his heart to go away. He shouldn't have cared so much-- he wasn't supposed to care so much.

By the time 11 o'clock rolled around, he heard the dulcet tones of his boring little ringtone, and snatched his phone up so quickly it was embarrassing.

"Hello?"

 _"Hey Arthur,"_  came Alfred's voice, there was no doubt that it was him, though something about it sounded strangely... off. Arthur pulled back to look at the screen. He'd named Alfred 'Idiot' in his address book, which made it easier to pick him out among his other contacts (none of whom called him anywhere close to as often, but who cared).

"Alfred? Are you all right?" Arthur asked, hoping he didn't sound as worried or relieved as he felt.

_"Yeah-- Yeah, m'good."_

Alfred was slurring his words slightly, almost making it sound as though he were speaking underwater. Arthur squinted at nothing and held the phone carefully to his ear.

"You sound ill."

_"Huh? Oh. No, m'not. Jus' came back, had a few beers with some friends an' all."_

Ah, so that was it. Arthur couldn't blame him for being late, not really. He could certainly be envious, however. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been out for a good pint, by himself or otherwise.

 _"Did I wake ya?"_  Good old Alfred, always asking about him with that concern in his voice that felt much like a warm caress, familiar, soothing, and welcomed. The southern twang on his tongue was a bit stronger when somewhat intoxicated apparently, and Arthur realized he had a sudden appreciation for it that he never thought possible. Or perhaps that was the relief talking, he wasn't sure.

"Quite fine. Perhaps you should rest?"

 _"I ain't drunk or anything, and anyway it's Friday!"_ Alfred protested, and he heard the clinking of glass in the background, as if Alfred was putting down a bottle on the table. Apparently he'd brought the party back home with him. And what was Arthur doing? Waiting around for his 'friend' to call him like some pining teenage girl. What sort of life was he living, really?

He made a quiet noise of agreement, plucking at a stray thread on his pillow. "I hope you had a good time."

It was more a statement for lack of anything better to say. He was glad Alfred had friends he could spend time with, get drunk with, those sorts of things. Arthur had those things too, sometimes, though not lately, especially not since Alfred. It was sobering and pathetic, really. God, he had to stop thinking.

But Alfred had ways of surprising him, subtle things which is what made them so striking. As Arthur considered his life choices, Alfred, who always seemed to speak as if they were in the same room, just across from one another, just a breath away, managed to find just the right and wrong things to say every single time.

_"Sorry m'late. Missed you."_

Arthur wasn't even sure he'd heard right at first, but there were no other sounds to distract him, and his thoughts, though running a million miles a second, still weren't enough.

"Did you now," he said quietly, and he was sure if his phone had a cord, he would have been wrapping his finger around it in anxious twists. The teenage girl comparison was really starting to hold water.

 _"Yeah,"_ Alfred continued, as though he couldn't hear Arthur's heart hammering in his chest through the phone,  _"told 'em all about you. Laughed at me, but I don't give a shit--"_

"Why would they laugh?"

_"'Cause they're douchebags. An' I ain't never seen ya so they think it's weird--"_

That was because it  _was_  weird. And yet Arthur felt nothing but shame that Alfred had talked about him to other people and Arthur had yet to do so. 

_"But whatever, don't care. I like ya. I think you're great. Awesome. Hot."_

"Back to that, are we?" Arthur said with a soft chuckle. "Your friends are right, you've never seen me, so how can you know that?"

_"Is this like that... that dejavu thingy or whatever? We've totally had this conversation before, dude. You like... you sound hot, ok. Like super hot. I bet you're just gorgeous, man."_

"And you sound perfectly smashed, dear," he replied, the endearment meant to sound mocking, but it felt so easy and so right that he blushed and almost wished he'd kept it to himself.

 _"Did'ya just call me 'dear'?"_ Of course the drunk fool would notice, goddamn it all.  _"Told you, ain't drunk. Just a couple beers, a couple."_

"Right," Arthur answered intelligently, and no more was said for a few harrowing seconds, during which he thought he might just roll over and close his eyes and let things be for now. There was no use in trying to make sense of what they had, it simply was. He hoped for idle chatter that meant very little, until Alfred went to sleep or Arthur hung up and then they'd continue on just as they always had. Forever? Probably not. Did they want to do this thing, whatever it was, forever?

 _"Hey Arthur,"_ Alfred said, and Arthur's breath caught in anticipation for some strange reason.

"Yes?"

_"I like you. Like, a lot. That okay?"_

Arthur sat up slowly, clutching his phone so hard his fingers turned white. "Yes. That's fine."

 _"What about me?"_ And for perhaps the first time, Arthur heard a vulnerability the likes of which he'd never known or thought to associate with Alfred Jones, self proclaimed 'coolest sum'bitch' this side of the Mississippi or whatever the hell. Alfred Jones, who was sweet and attentive, not at all afraid or uncomfortable like Arthur was, to want to reach out to a stranger after a misplaced phone call. Alfred made him laugh and made him  _hate_ him for making him laugh but also  _love_  him for even bothering to try.

Well, not love. But something like it. Or very close. Or--

"Yes. I'm... I'm rather fond of you too."

It wasn't the most heartfelt declaration. Alfred didn't reply, and yet again Arthur hoped he'd simply passed out. But perhaps Alfred hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd only had a few.

He sounded lucid and clear as day as he whispered,  _"Do you wanna... wanna... I wanna touch you."_

What a perfectly odd thing to say.

_"Wanna touch you... an' kiss you... That okay too?"_

"Yes," Arthur whispered back, a rush of warmth creeping over him, the sting of embarrassment almost nothing compared to how completely easy and quickly his answer had come to him. Like a cliched light bulb appearing over his head, the answer to a question he'd had for longer than was probably appropriate, Alfred's voice always in his head, in his heart, telling him what he wanted.

_"What color's your hair?"_

Arthur realized they really didn't know much about each other's appearance, and it seemed almost impossible. Thinking about it, he ran a hand through his hair. Short and choppy. "Blond, I suppose."

_"Heh mine too. An' your eyes?"_

"Green," he answered.

_"That's so hot. Knew it. Called it."_

"Shut up. What about yours?"

_"Blue."_

Arthur hummed in response. Blond and blue-eyed. Young. Impulsive? Overly friendly. Kind. Alfred couldn't be anything but gorgeous himself.

_"What're ya wearing."_

"Oh god, are we doing this? Are we really doing this?" he laughed despite himself, and Alfred was laughing too.

_"Told you, wanna touch you! You can touch me too."_

"Over the  _phone_?"

_"Tell me."_

"Just a t-shirt... and boxers."

Patently unsexy, but then Arthur hadn't exactly been prepared to do something like this. He waited for an answer, and heard the brief sound of rustling, muffled slightly, before Alfred's voice returned much more clear now.

_"OK, me too. Or just boxers, I just took off my shirt."_

Oh god. It seemed they really were doing this.

_"M'pretty buff. Got muscles."_

"Oh I'm so sure."

_"I do! Wanna touch 'em?"_

It shouldn't have been as much of a turn on as it was, but the way it was asked made Arthur lean back against his pillows, teeth worrying over his lip as he thought,  _imagined_  what it would be like, what it could be like.

"I suppose I could... run my hands down your chest?" he murmured, a little unsure.

_"Yeah, you could do that... Over my arms too. Bet you have nice hands."_

Arthur snorted in amusement. "Well gee, thank you."

 _"Dude, you're not making this easy,"_ Alfred complained, but there was clear mirth in his tone.

"Well pardon me, but I've never done this with someone I've never met."

_"So you have done it before."_

"Not the point!" Arthur snapped, firmly ending  _that_  line of conversation. Alfred teased him a bit more, and Arthur felt the quiet ease settle over them once more. Alfred's voice was throaty and deep, the slur from the alcohol blending in with his normal lilt until Arthur could no longer tell the difference. Alfred sounded like Alfred, which meant perfectly charming and all sort of other things that were much less innocuous. He wanted to try again.

It started much easier this time.

_"If I were right next to you, Arthur... I'd kiss ya, real slow and sweet..."_

"Yeah?" Arthur answered, tracing his fingers over his lips, almost as if he could taste him.

_"Mmhm... so sweet. Such a pretty voice, you gotta have a pretty mouth. Like the rest of you. Going to kiss down your throat, maybe lick a little. Bite a little..."_

Alfred hadn't even asked if Arthur was into that sort of thing. Luckily for him, he  _was_. He made another noise of affirmation, even as he dragged his fingers down his throat, touches following Alfred's honeyed words as he spoke.

_"I can just picture you in my head... Running my hands down your sides... your body... between your thighs..."_

Arthur bit his lip so hard he had to pause, letting out a quiet rush of breath. The sound must have caught the other man's attention, as he could almost hear the satisfied smirk in his voice as he continued.

_"You like that? You like me touching you all over? Everywhere except where you want me to touch..."_

"Fuck," Arthur choked on the expletive as he ran his hands down his body just as Alfred would have done. He wondered what his hands were like. Large and wide? Thick? Rough and calloused? Perhaps smoother (he did work at a desk all day), but scarred from all the shop classes and working on cars in his free time back in his hometown in Georgia, strong hands that were sure and aggressive and knew where to touch.

_"Then I'd kiss my way down, all the way down, stopping right above your pretty little cock--"_

The deliciously harsh sound of the word is what really did it, sending a jolt of pleasure through him that made him grip at the sheets hard and forget about how completely and utterly absurd this all was. He didn't care. He just didn't want Alfred to stop.

"Then I would open my legs for you, wider, while I ran my fingers through your hair," Arthur imagined it short, perhaps not neatly cut, but not as messy as his own, soft between his fingers-- "and urged you... begged you to touch me more."

 _"Shit._ "

At least he wasn't the only one able to elicit one word responses. It made him smile a bit until he heard rustling, and then Alfred gave a quiet moan that was just barely there, but Arthur's senses seemed to be on high alert of every shift and noise the other made.

_"Then I'd give it to you, Arthur... 'cause I like hearing you beg... and I wanna hear your sexy voice cry out for me even more when I wrap my lips around your cock and give it a long, hard suck..."_

Arthur immediately shoved his hands inside his boxers, wrapping shaking fingers around himself and thumbing the head, stroking almost in time with Alfred's soft grunts that followed his own words. He didn't have to guess that the other was surely doing the same.

"Yes-- Yes, Alfred... More. More, please," he murmured lowly, stuttering a bit, still so nervous but even more eager. He stroked himself to full hardness, nearly mesmerized by the site of his own hand moving furiously beneath his sheets. He could pretend it was Alfred's hand if he couldn't see it. If he closed his eyes he could just pretend, imagine that the heat around his cock was hotter, wetter. He was just slick enough for it to work.

_"I'd keep right on sucking until I felt your legs trembling in my hands, until you screamed my name and I tasted your come on my lips and tongue...I want it all over me... inside me... You gonna come for me, Arthur...?"_

"Yes, yes, yes..." Arthur chanted, squeezing, teasing the head, imagining the tip of Alfred's tongue dipping just  _so--_

_"Do you want me to fuck you, Arthur? Or maybe... you want to fuck me? You want to flip me over? Spread my legs this time?"_

"Fuck!"

_"Maybe I'd... maybe I'd let you... Let you fuck me so hard. Spread me open like a fucking--"_

Like a fucking what, Arthur would never know, Alfred didn't finish his sentence and merely trailed off into gasps and moans that filled his head and made him near delirious.

"Oh god--!" his hand moved faster as he clenched his eyes shut tight, voice breathless and weak as he came suddenly, inexplicably hot and hard, all over his hand and thighs.

 _"I want it... I want it so bad--"_ Alfred's voice was no longer quite as smooth, and had moved to a slightly higher pitch. The wet sound of skin against skin was so loud and enough to make Arthur's cock stir again, but he just panted and listened to Alfred pant, mutter curses and praises until he gave a sharp cry. He breathed so hard into the phone that Arthur nearly pulled it away, it was too much, too close, it almost felt like Alfred was right there with him, but the cold piece of plastic against his ear made it that much more obvious that he wasn't.

Moments later, after they'd both caught their breaths, Arthur wondered. Wondered and waited. He just left his hand in his sticky underwear and stared up at the ceiling, hoping that any of the important questions would have answers written above for him to choose from. But of course there was nothing there, and the silence couldn't go on forever.

_"Arthur?"_

His name sounded so normal now. Alfred sounded normal, perhaps a little tired. But his heart hurt for some reason.

"Yes?"

_"I... I think we should meet. Like, tomorrow. As early as possible. For real."_

Arthur laughed, and the pain went away.

\--

They were supposed to meet at a park that was close enough for the both of them, just before lunch time. Arthur had managed to convince Alfred that no, 7AM was probably  _too_ early, and they'd both had a rather... long night. 11 was reasonable and it gave time for Arthur to take a shower and sit in said shower for 30 minutes wasting water while he imagined every worst possible scenario.

Alfred could be terrible in person. He already knew the man was kind of an idiot. He could be a complete asshole who just sounded nice over the phone, like countless other people Arthur knew and actually worked with. Or what if he  _was_  a serial killer? What would Arthur do? But then, even all of those things didn't matter, as Arthur realized he was stupidly infatuated, and Alfred could be mildly deformed or weigh 300 pounds and Arthur would probably still take him home with him.

But the other side of the coin was what would  _Alfred_  think of  _him_? Arthur knew he was fairly average, and no matter how many times the other had swore to the contrary, he wasn't interesting at all. There was nothing remarkable about him at all. He had messy hair and thick eyebrows and a scowl that chased away small children. He had a mean streak, he liked to drink too much (though Alfred had yet to learn that side of him), and he was wholly and completely unprepared with what do in this sort of situation.

He showed up at 10:45 (too  _early_ ) and sat on a bench staring at the birds. And that was when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, raising his eyebrows at the screen.

 _'Idiot' is calling,_ it said.

 _Sorry, you have the wrong number,_  is what Arthur would have liked to have said.

Instead, he held the phone up to his ear, letting out a shaky breath. "Alfred?"

_"I fucking knew it."_

There was strange feedback and an echo, and Arthur looked up and realized why that was. There was a man standing before him in jeans and a t-shirt and clean button down, all blond hair and blue eyes. Perfectly average and perfectly gorgeous, and most important, everything Arthur had never even known he'd wanted.

He stood up, echoing Alfred's words as he approached him. "Fucking knew what?"

"That you were hot," Alfred answered, flicking the 'end call' button on his phone and fixing Arthur with a grin and a stare that made him burn all over in just the right ways.

"Speak for yourself," Arthur breathed, and didn't hold back from that first kiss.


End file.
